A burst of sudden wings at dawn,
Faint voices in a dreamy noon,
Evenings of mists and murmurings,
And nights with rainbows of the moon.
And through these things a wood-way dim,
And waters dim, and slow sheep seen
On uphill paths that wind away
Through summer sounds and harvest green.
This is a song a robin sang
This morning on a broken tree,
It was about the little fields
That call across the world to me.
Francis Ledwidge, Belgium,
Ar Goeden Friw